"My kind, old faithful friend!" said she, then
shook her head. "No, we are not to dine with you; nor sit together at the
opera, in Homburg."
Ashmead looked a little chagrined. "So be it," he said dryly. "But at
least introduce me to him. I'll try and overcome his prejudices."
"It is not even in my power to do that."
"Oh, I see. I'm not good enough for him," said Ashmead, bitterly.
"You do yourself injustice, and him too," said Ina, courteously.
"Well, then?"
"My friend," said she, deprecatingly, "he is not here."
"Not here? That is odd. Well, then, you will be dull till he comes back.
Come without him; at all events, to the opera."
She turned her tortured eyes away. "I have not the heart."
This made Ashmead look at her more attentively. "Why, what is the
matter?" said he. "You are in trouble. I declare you are trembling, and
your eyes are filling. My poor lady--in Heaven's name, what is the
matter?"
"Hush!" said Ina; "not so loud." Then she looked him in the face a little
while, blushed, hesitated, faltered, and at last laid one white hand upon
her bosom, that was beginning to heave, and said, with patient dignity,
"My old friend--I--am--deserted.
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